


Professional Pride

by cardinalrachelieu



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hands Free Orgasm, JUST 1300 WORDS OF SMUT, MY LIFE IS A JOKE AND I AM ASHAMED, OH MY GOD SMUT, Smut, So much smut, bellamy has a complex about this, you know he does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardinalrachelieu/pseuds/cardinalrachelieu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’ve been sleeping together for over a week now, but Bellamy has yet to give her a hands-free orgasm. He takes it quite personally, considers it a matter of professional pride.</p>
<p>He’s always been good with women – and that one dude that one time, but that’s not important – at figuring out their bodies and what buttons to push to make them come undone underneath him in a matter of minutes. But with Clarke, he has to work for it. Like, really work for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professional Pride

They’ve been sleeping together for over a week now, but Bellamy has yet to give her a hands-free orgasm. He takes it quite personally, considers it a matter of professional pride.

He’s always been good with women – and that one dude that one time, but that’s not important – at figuring out their bodies and what buttons to push to make them come undone underneath him in a matter of minutes. But with Clarke, he has to work for it. Like, _really_ work for it.

The first time they fell together in a tangle of limbs, he almost couldn’t hold out long enough. It was only by some great cosmic mercy that his fingers had rubbed against her clit at just the right pressure and just the right speed to send her tumbling into oblivion mere seconds before he came.

She’d hummed against him, blissful and uncaring as she drifted off to sleep, but Bellamy had lain awake for hours.

The next day he’d gone into things with a plan. He’d spent what felt like an hour between her legs, mostly teasing, sometimes giving in and flicking his tongue over her roughly. She’d seemed to like that; it made her hips buck each time.

This plan had, of course, backfired because by the time he was finally sinking into her, he was already on the verge of losing control. Watching her writhe under the careful attention of his mouth had turned him on to the point of pain.

He’d had to resort to using his fingers again, and it somehow felt like admitting defeat. She’d come, alright, but not how he’d wanted her to.

Not one to be deterred by past failures, Bellamy set out the next time with every intention of getting her off with his mouth. He figured that maybe it was a momentum thing – get her over the hill once and then she’d just keep on rolling.

He was gravely mistaken. Every muscle in his body was shaking from exertion and they were both so covered in sweat that it looked like they’d been caught out in the rain. In a moment of weakness, Bellamy had again resorted to pressing his fingertips against her swollen bundle of nerves.

By the time Clarke’s walls were clenching around him, almost half an hour had passed.

Neither of them walked perfectly straight the next day.

Bellamy’s fourth attempt was slightly more successful. He’d gotten the bright idea to throw her legs over his shoulders so he could thrust into her more fully. Everything was going well until she allowed one of her legs to drop and catch around his waist. The change of the angle made her moan but it nearly sent him over the edge. He’d had to abruptly stop his movements so that he didn’t finish before her. Naturally, this sent her back to square one of the orgasm labyrinth, so again he’d employed the use of his hands to bring her to climax.

She’d curled against him afterward, eyes shut softly in contentment. He drew lazy patterns on the skin of her upper back, unable to appreciate the small sighs that escaped her lips because he was so wrapped up in his own mind.

His inability to give Clarke an orgasm without the assistance of his fingers was a problem, and he was hell bent on finding a solution.

The next day he stomped around camp in a huff, frustrated by his own incompetence. Clarke had pulled him aside sometime around midday and, not so delicately, asked him _why the hell_ he was mouthing off to everyone.

He’d grumbled out something about a headache and made a conscious effort to better control his emotions for the rest of the day.

He’d still ended up snapping at Jasper when the dumb kid made an unsolicited comment about his sister, but Bellamy reasoned that he would’ve done it anyway, current issues aside.

Yesterday, he’d tried flipping them over, letting Clarke roll her hips against him at her own pace. Like every other plan, this worked well in theory. Bellamy hadn’t counted on the visual stimulus of her grinding on top of him being so… intense.

He’d briefly considered stopping her, asking her to slow down, but the way her head was thrown back in pleasure told him it would be an unforgivable offense. He gritted his teeth and brought his thumb between them, rubbing small circles into the pink flesh.

Again, she found her climax before him – but just barely.

He’s not sure why he’s so fixated on this, on only using his cock to send her over the edge. She doesn’t seem to care – not that he’s ever actually asked outright – and that should be enough for him… but it’s not. He needs to know that _just him_ is enough to get her off.

Not his mouth, not his fingers, just… _him_.

Now Bellamy finds himself once again in bed with Clarke. She’s drawing shaky breaths next to his ear as he drills his hips into her, and he can feel her walls clench and unclench around him at regular intervals – which drives him _fucking insane_ – but he knows she’s nowhere near as close as him to finishing.

In a fit of frustration, he growls and flips her onto her stomach. Digging his fingers into the flesh of her hips, he pulls her toward him roughly so that she’s now balanced on hands and knees.

Without thinking, he tangles his fingers through her hair, yanking backward until her throat is exposed. She lets out a low groan and rolls her backside against him, gasping when his tip brushes her entrance.

It’s an understatement to say that her reaction shocks Bellamy. He’d been intentionally gentle with her all this time because he knew she was inexperienced. And here she was, practically begging him to take her from behind.

Cautiously, he presses into her, squeezing the pliant flesh of her ass hard enough to bruise. A low, animalistic sound escapes her lips then, and she pushes against him.

He grins something wicked, anchoring his knees firmly into the pallet before pounding his hips against her once. Again, a moan – this time, it’s open-mouthed and louder.

He lets her slide back and forth along his length, biting his lip and taking his sweet time to gather her hair neatly into his left hand before continuing. One firm tug and her back is arching toward him.

“Bellamy—“

He’s pretty sure that she was about to say “please,” but the word dies on her tongue before she has a chance to utter it because he snaps his hips against her.

Her whole body rocks forward from the force of his thrusts, and she would likely collapse were it not for his hand coiled tightly around her hip.

Her breaths are coming ragged, punctuated by soft cries and an occasional curse word.

Releasing her hair, he pushes her facedown into the fur blanket and quickly secures her wrists behind her back. She lets out a muffled whimper when his hips momentarily still against her, but it soon turns into a low hum when he resumes his efforts.

He can feel the muscles in her body shaking – vibrating – against him. He brings his free hand down to her ass – hard – and the way she cries out tells him that he should do it again.

So he does.

And then she’s finally bucking against him, a string of curses falling from her lips as wave after wave of pleasure wracks her body. He follows soon after her, his palm pressing into the round red mark that’s taken shape against her creamy white skin.

Laying there with sweat slicked skin, Bellamy’s lips curl up into a tired smile.

“How long have you been holding _that_ in?” she pants, eyes meeting his through a fan of lashes.

“Too long, apparently.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday gift to myself. What better way to spend your 24th birthday than attending faculty lunches and writing Bellarke smut? (I cranked this out pretty quickly, so I'm sorry if it's a bit of a let down. I wanted to post it before going to dinner.)
> 
> Reviews give me life, so don't be shy :)


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